


You have a thing...

by friendlywitch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 06:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12858705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlywitch/pseuds/friendlywitch
Summary: Oh, it’s that big dude.





	You have a thing...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wintertree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintertree/gifts).



> late as usual but a lil treat for my dear friend and fellow qunari enthusiast!
> 
> feel free to compliment/complain/comment on my highly un-beta'd grammatical errors <3

It’s Sunday, and Tabris is sweating bullets. He’s usually oily, sure, with his penchant for junk food and non-existent skincare regimen, but today the stuffy fluorescent-lit kitchen threatens to turn him into a sewer rat. He tugs another baking tray out of the oven and pops in another -- he’s got dozens of dozens more to go.

A jarring clatter and Tabris is shaken out of his routine. He weaves towards the front counter and spots the shape of somebody colliding with the frosted glass entrance.

“We’re closed!” He returns to the back and starts up the hand mixer -- shoddy and outdated but the only reason that Tabris’ arms are, in his opinion, incredibly jacked. He fails to realize that his slight, decidedly un-toned legs and torso don’t quite fit the picture, but he’d probably agree that it’s better to look like a malnourished gorilla than a fit gibbon.

He hears it again, the door shaking and quaking and making the walls quake with it. _Christ_.

“ _Yeah_ , we’re closed!” Fuck, now he’s got flour all over himself. And the walls keep quaking.

Looking like a malnourished gorilla with a troubling cocaine addiction, Tabris traipses to the entrance and swings open the door.

 _Oh_ , it’s that big dude.

“Your sign says ‘Open.’” Tabris wipes his greasy hands on his greasy shirt and peers at the sign. That it does.

“We’re not open on Sundays.”

“... Oh.”

The big dude’s eyes flash with embarrassment, for a millisecond, and his lips purse into a flat line.

“You should fix the sign. Goodbye.”

Tabris watches the big dude walk away, feeling like he wishes they were open on Sundays. The big dude is his favorite customer, easy. He comes three times a week at least and buys three black-and-white cookies every time. It’d be cheaper and more convenient to buy a dozen every week, but the big dude does it his way and eats them right at the counter while Tabris tries to make conversation.

It was tough going at first, because the big dude’s eyes are unforgiving and Tabris’ small talk is better in bursts, but eventually they established a comfortable, if unconventional, rhythm wherein Tabris boxes up the cookies, a formality, really, and the big dude eats them. And then the big dude flatly points out another customer’s “unconvincing hairpiece” or the neighboring restaurant’s “dystopian quality,” and Tabris giggles like a crush-ridden schoolboy.

“Hey! Uh…” Tabris calls out, feeling stupid for not knowing the name of someone he sees more often than any other person in the universe.

The big dude turns back anyway, mitts shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. “What?”

“You should, uh… I’ve got some black-and-whites. Still warm.”

“The shop is closed, yes?”

Tabris feels stupider still, and not just because there’s a full city block between them.

“Well, _yeah_ , but. Friends and family hours.” Tabris exaggerates a wink, which the big dude either (a) doesn’t appreciate, or (b) can’t see for the distance.

“Are you alright? You’re twitching.” It’s a toss-up, really.

“I’m fine. Come and get your cookies.” Tabris turns and shuffles back into the store, half-hoping that the big dude will follow him and half-hoping he’ll spare him the embarrassment.

The big dude follows him, looking uncomfortable and pleased all at once, even though he doesn’t really betray either emotions in his expression. Somehow, Tabris can just tell.

Tabris trips to the kitchen and comes back with a tray of black-and-whites. He boxes them, like always, and the big dude eats them straight away.

“What is your commitment today, being that you’re closed?”

Tabris doesn’t understand this question, really, but he has a sneaking suspicion that the big dude’s asking what time he gets off.

“I’m here until I finish tomorrow’s batches. Here’s hoping I don’t burn any.” Tabris smiles at the big dude, and the big dude smiles back, not so much with his face or even his eyes, but deep down in his bones. Back in the kitchen, the oven beeps. Tabris hesitates, watching the big dude slowly take another bite of his third cookie.

“I don’t want to waste your time.”

“Huh?”

“Your cookies are burning.”

“Right.”

Tabris rushes to the back and swaps out the next batch, then rushes back to the front, hoping that the big dude hasn’t left yet.

He hasn’t. He’s just standing there at the counter, looking embarrassed again, eyes on his empty pastry box. He lets out the smallest sigh, and like always, turns towards the door.

“Anything else I can get you?” Tabris says, feeling desperate.

The big dude turns back.

“... Perhaps.”

Tabris boxes another three cookies and hands them over. The big dude contemplates Tabris, and then the box, and then Tabris again. He begins eating again, slower than ever this time.

“This is the best place in the neighborhood. The world, maybe,” the big dude says quietly, mouth full of cookie. He says it with such unemotional sincerity that Tabris feels giggly again. Instead, he just nods, and flour falls out of his hair.

“So… uh, just so I can label your orders in the future… what should I call you?”

“Sten.”

“That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s not my name.”

“Alright then.”

  


Sten eats a dozen cookies that day. Tabris burns a dozen batches.


End file.
